Nothing Hurts Like Your Mouth
by devirnis
Summary: Vignettes in the romance between an apostate and a refugee-turned-Champion. Love is fleeting, liberty even more so. Life in Kirkwall is far from easy. F!Hawke/Anders
1. Like the Beginning

**1. Like the Beginning**

The boy's condition was grave, but he had dealt with worse before. Granted, that had been back in Amaranthine, when he had the backing of one of the most powerful people in Fereldan. With the trust of the Warden-Commander Queen, he could walk the streets without glancing over his shoulder every minute; buy poultices and lyrium potions without having to bribe every vendor. But there was no point dwelling on past luxuries. This boy's life depended on him, and his full concentration. The kid was in a bad way, but he could do this.

A huge surge of magic sucked mana from him, a great deal more than he had been expecting. The boy's parents shifted nervously beside the splintering wooden table. He would have preferred that they not be there, but the boy was so young that it was impossible to separate them from their son. His face contorted as a wave of nausea and dizziness hit him.

_Can't stop. Have to save him._

With one last frustrated burst of healing magic, the boy gasped and sat upright. The mother was by his side in an instant, pulling her son off the makeshift sickbed. His father was the only one who seemed to remember that the healer was still present, and worse for wear.

As he steadied himself against the wall, the boy's father squeezed his shoulder in a brief gesture of thanks, and then retreated back to the family. Behind him, he heard the door to his clinic open. Not a tentative creak, like his patients, but a definite confident push. Templars? Damn. He hadn't been here that long, how had they gotten wind of him already? Justice stirred angrily inside him, and he could feel his control slipping. Not here. Not if that boy and his family were still close by.

He grabbed his staff as he spun around to face the intruders. "I have made this place a sanctum of healing and salvation. Why do you threaten it?"

He wasn't quite expecting the group that he was facing. Not Templars, or raiders, or even some belligerent refugees. It was a rather ragtag crew: a dwarf with a crossbow, who he was sure that he had seen around Kirkwall before; a guardswoman; and two girls, probably related. The younger of the two was a mage, he could see that clearly. How she had gone unnoticed by the Templars was a mystery to him. The elder of the girls was obviously in charge. She was of average stature, with brown hair swept back into a low ponytail. If it hadn't been for her armour—dirty, dented, obviously old—he would have pegged her for a Hightown resident. There was something about her demeanour and poised expression that didn't fit with her observably poor standing. But just because she was pretty didn't mean she wasn't still a threat.

She held up her hands. "I'm just here to talk."

The dwarf—something Tethras—stepped in. "We're interested in getting into the Deep Roads. Rumour has it you were a Warden. Do you know a way?"

Damn. He thought that here in the Free Marches, far away from Amaranthine and the Warden Royal couple, he would be safe from that part of his past. But people loved to gossip, so he shouldn't really be surprised that someone had found out.

"Did the Wardens send you to bring me back?" Because he sure as hell wouldn't go. After Commander—after Queen Amara had left Vigil's Keep for the Fereldan Court, followed by Nathaniel and Velanna, life in the Wardens had lost its appeal. And of course, the most important reason of all: "I'm not going. Those bastards made me get rid of my cat." He got all choked up just thinking about it. "Poor Ser Pounce-a-lot. He hated the Deep Roads."

The girl in front of him cocked an eyebrow, perplexed. "You had a cat named Ser Pounce-a-lot in the Deep Roads?"

Her companions exchanged skeptical glances. They probably thought that the taint had gone to his brain. Maybe it had. He couldn't figure out why, at the slightest prompt from her, he found himself rambling on about his cat. When he finished talking, there was a bit of an awkward silence. Tethras—Bartrand? No, that was the older brother—was staring at him, clearly debating whether or not this had been worth the trip to Darktown.

"I always heard that joining the Wardens is for life."

Obviously not. The King and Queen of Fereldan had both been in the Order once. But she was dressed like a Kirkwaller, and that information had been mostly contained inside Fereldan. "That's only partly true," he answered anyway. "The 'hopelessly tainted by the darkspawn' and 'plagued by nightmares about the Archdemon' parts don't go away." He flashed her a grin, taking himself by surprise. "But it turns out if you hide well, you don't have to wear the uniform or go to the parties."

There was a burst of annoyance and disapproval inside his chest. Justice. The spirit was less than impressed with his host's behaviour. Anders mentally kicked himself. What the hell had he just been _doing_? Flirting? No, that had to stop. He forced his expression back to one of suspicion.

"I'm part of an expedition into the Deep Roads." She said it without a hint of fear or anxiety. Either she was completely unaware of the dangers of venturing into such a place, or she was nuts. "Any information you have could save people's lives."

So that was it. They were after his maps. "I will die a happy man if I never think about the blighted Deep Roads again." His last excursion there had been less than ideal. Talking darkspawn running around, strange little grubs pinning him to the ground and tearing at his robes … "You can't imagine what I've come through to get here. I'm not interested—" Hang on. _Don't forget why you came to Kirkwall in the first place. Her sister's a mage, and she looks capable. This could be just the break you need._ "Although … a favour for a favour. Does that sound like a fair deal? You help me, I'll help you?"

Her eyes lit up, and he had to fight a smile once again. "Help my expedition reach the Deep Roads, and I'll do whatever you need."

The dwarf beside her flinched as she leapt to his aid without investigating. Part of him warmed at her innocence and naivety, assuming that his request would be easy or legal. Another part of him worried about what a city like Kirkwall would do to a poor girl like her. "You don't ask for my terms? What if I were asking for the Knight-Commander's head on a spike?"

She hesitated for a moment as she realized her foolishness. "Is that what you ask?"

"I have a Warden map of the depths in this area. But there's a price." He unconsciously moved away from the door to his clinic, away from any prying ears. "I came to Kirkwall to aid a friend. A mage. A prisoner in the wretched Gallows." He watched her face intently, and was delighted when she didn't jump at his words. Promising. "The Templars learned of my plan to free him. Help me bring him safely past them, and you shall have your maps."

She glanced over her shoulder at her sister, loitering with the others near the clinic entrance. "I would help any mage in such circumstances, map or no."

He liked this girl more every minute. Generous, brave, beautiful—he stopped himself quickly, and Justice churned inside, warning him away from such thoughts. "I welcome your aid. I have already sent word for Karl to meet me in the Chantry tonight. Join us there, and we'll ensure that no matter who is with him, we all walk away free."

She nodded, and moved back towards her group, their business complete. An emotion stirred in his chest, one that he couldn't quite name. It wasn't from Justice; it was purely from him.

"Your name," he blurted, before he could think better of it.

The group stopped, and she turned around. "Hawke," she answered. A moment later, a slight smile touched her lips. "Theia Hawke."

Tethras nudged her covertly, urging her out of the clinic. As she disappeared around the corner, Anders found himself already looking forward to seeing her again, even though it meant putting himself in harm's way. Justice prodded him inwardly, troubled by this attraction to a stranger. Anders told himself that he was merely concerned about this potential ally. She was pure, unsullied by Kirkwall's ferocity and cruelty. It was refreshing for his world-weary eyes to see someone like her. He only wanted to make sure that she stayed innocent for as long as possible. That was all.

As he turned back to a waiting patient, he allowed himself a small grin. "Theia …"

* * *

><p><em>And my head told my heart<em>  
><em>"Let love grow"<em>  
><em>But my heart told my head<em>  
><em>"This time no<em>  
><em>This time no"<em>

- Mumford & Sons


	2. Like Going Back

**2. Like Going Back**

He had to be crazy. It was the only explanation for why he'd agreed to this—why he'd agreed so readily. While he had promised to aid Theia Hawke in return for her help with ... with Karl … he had only been expecting to give up his Warden maps. Going with her into the Deep Roads was another matter completely. His last underground adventure to Kal'Hirol had been less than pleasant, and he hadn't exactly been eager to return. But when she'd stepped into his clinic the morning of her departure, he'd changed his mind.

"I have a huge favour to ask you." She'd flashed him a smile and he'd felt the blood rush to his face. "I'd like you to come with me on my expedition."

_No_ should have been the automatic response, but for some reason he hadn't immediately refused. As much as he hated to admit it, for the past few days he'd been dreading this day: the day she left, possibly never to return. She had skills, sure enough, but malnourished bandits were nothing compared to darkspawn. Although, Varric had told him that she'd killed an ogre on the way out of Lothering, but Anders was never sure how much of what Varric said was true.

"Why me?" he'd asked.

"Because I can't take Aveline away from her guard duties, I don't entirely trust Fenris, Merrill isn't cut out for the Deep Roads, Isabela wouldn't come if I asked …" She paused, as if debating whether or not to continue. "And frankly, because I trust you and I want you watching my—our backs."

Delight surged up inside him, followed quickly by a reproach from Justice. She wanted him there. She wanted _him_ there with her. He had of course noticed her slip of the tongue, and briefly wondered whether it had been calculated or not. But he stopped, and allowed himself the pleasure at knowing that she risked his wrath—which she had seen well enough in the Chantry with the Templars—to ask him to accompany her to the Deep Roads.

_Her expedition, not just her,_ Justice reminded him gently. _Think carefully._

He had known the answer the moment she asked him. Justice knew that, but still offered his advice. It was against his better judgement, to go willingly back to such a vile place. If any other person had asked him, he would have vehemently declined. He tried to convince himself that he simply wanted to protect her, as she seemed sympathetic to mages, making her a valuable ally. But her comment about his "sexy, tortured look" certainly played a part in his decision.

So now he found himself back in the Deep Roads, and he'd been through hell. The group, consisting of Theia, Bethany, Varric and himself, had already encountered a few darkspawn and a monster spider. But that was nothing compared to being locked in an ancient thaig after Varric's son of a bitch brother had unexpectedly betrayed them. Justice was seething inside, and it was a fight for a while to keep the spirit under control.

Varric wasn't taking his brother's treachery very well. There was practically steam coming out of the poor dwarf's ears, and Anders could hear him muttering a steady stream of curses under his breath as they ventured further into the primeval thaig. And it wasn't exactly easy going after that. Shades, a golem, and some strange stone wraiths were on them almost constantly. Then, of course, there was the demon that tried to bargain with them. For a moment, he thought that Theia was actually considering it, as she stood boldly in front of the demon, eyeing him carefully. But she refused, and he was glad of it, despite the ensuing fight.

At least the encounter with the demon had left them with some hope: there was a door out of this hellhole, and they were heading in the right direction. But if he had learned anything from his time with the Wardens, it was that the Deep Roads did not breed hope. Bethany and her sister walked at the head of the party with a spring in their step, optimistic. Varric was still too livid to really be paying attention. So that left Anders alone in his alertness, carefully evaluating every sensation, trying to determine if he could sense any darkspawn—or worse.

"Or worse", of course, seemed to haunt his steps. They started walking up some ancient stairs, and ended up in a large cavern. Pillars seemed to be holding up the ceiling, and instantly Anders was on his guard. Theia fell back to keep pace with Varric.

"What is this place?"

"This is the vault. The dwarves would have brought their …" Varric trailed off as a rumbling sound filled the room. At first, Anders thought that the cave might be collapsing. But movement in the corner of his eye squashed that theory. Rocks were coming together, rolling into each other, sticking together, forming arms and legs …

They all turned around. Some sort of rock beast stood before them, half a skull for a face, glowering down at them with its red gaze. Theia and Varric glanced at each other before sizing up the new threat.

The dwarf's face paled. "Oh. That can't be good."

Anders hadn't been in any serious battles in so long that he worried that had lost some of his fighting skills. However, as soon as his shock subsided, instincts kicked in. He was firing off spells without really thinking, and soon his fellow adventurers had joined the fray. Varric wisely hung back, sending arrows flying from his beloved crossbow. Bethany positioned herself close to Anders, trying to stay out of reach of the Rock Wraith, but still in range for spells. That of course left their fearless leader to do the direct attacks. But Anders didn't have time to be worried, as the monster swiped at him. He barely had time to push Bethany out of the way.

Theia cast a worried glance over her shoulder as she realized her foe had gone after her sister. When she saw Anders shove her sister out of harm's way she gave him a relieved smile. She turned back to the Rock Wraith just in time to see it crumble backwards and transform into a spike. Seconds later, before she had time to react, it lunged at her, knocking her right off her feet. The Wraith shifted back to its normal form, hovering overtop of her. It raised one of its powerful arms, preparing to crush her.

_No!_

It was just a gut reaction; he couldn't really explain it. As the monster brought down its stone limb, something seemed to take possession of him, just for one brief moment. His palm erupted in a burst of magic, and before he knew it he had cast a protective shield around his fallen ally. The Wraith's arm bounced off the barrier, which evaporated under the sheer force behind the swing. But it gave Theia enough time to roll out of immediate danger, and a well-placed arrow from Varric distracted the beast.

He didn't even have time to breathe a sigh of relief before the next danger presented itself. The Rock Wraith curled into a ball and lifted off the ground. He could feel magic building into a chaotic vortex inside the creature. To quote Varric, that couldn't be good.

"Get behind something!" he bellowed, grabbing Bethany's hand and tugging her to safety behind one of the stone pillars.

Theia and Varric quickly followed suit, and just in time. Magic exploded out of the Wraith, filling every corner of the cavern, with the exception of the safe zones behind the pillars. Anders could sense that it was some form of chain lightning, but denser and more brutal than the kind mages could master. Why was it that he always ended up facing something stupidly vicious? Inferno golems, talking darkspawn, spectral dragons … He was surprised he was still alive.

The red magic death beams vanished, and the Rock Wraith sunk to the ground, leaving its core exposed. Theia wasted no time in charging at the weak spot, while Anders and the other two picked off the profane that had risen out of the dirt. After many more minutes of attacking, hiding and narrowly dodging, the Wraith finally seemed ready to go down. Theia vaulted into the air, dagger poised for the death strike, and sunk her blade into the monster's glowing ribcage. Anders felt the residual magic disappear, and now-harmless rocks clattered to the ground.

Varric raised his eyebrows at Theia, who simply smiled and shrugged in return. The dwarf shook his head, and began walking towards the back of the cavern. "The rock wraiths are supposed to be dwarven legends. They're not even supposed to be real!"

She glanced sideways at him. "Looked pretty real to me."

"I suppose it doesn't matter. Look at what it was guarding!" Hidden away in the back of the cavern, beside the most beautiful door Anders had ever seen in his life, was a treasure trove: a multitude of chests and piles of gold coins and other valuables.

"Let's see if there's something that can help get us out of here." Theia squatted down to open one of the chests. She winced in pain, and her hand flew to her ribs.

Anders went quickly to her side as Bethany and Varric started rooting through the treasure. "Here, let me see."

She moved her hand from her side, but watched him warily as he inspected her. He placed his fingers on her ribs, gently feeling each one for injury. As he reached the middle ribs, she sucked in her breath sharply.

"Sorry! Sorry." He could feel the deep crack in her rib. It was easy enough to fix, and relatively painless. "This might feel weird." His palms heated up as he fused the bone back together. He watched her face intently as he worked, looking for any sign of pain or discomfort. She was staring at his hands, fascinated. He removed his hands as the last pieces of her bone fit back together.

"That was …" She smiled at him. "Amazing."

He opened his mouth to reply, but was interrupted by Bethany jumping up and shouting, "I found a key! We can leave!"

Theia left his side and went to her sister, patting her on the back. "Good job, sis. Let's go home."

* * *

><p>They had been travelling for what felt like forever, and all the way something had been gnawing at the back of Anders' mind the whole way. It was a feeling that he recognized, but he couldn't recall what it meant. So he pushed it to the back of his mind and tried to ignore it.<p>

"This part of the Deep Roads looks familiar."

"We're back where we started, and in only five days. Not bad, eh?" Varric seemed to be back to his usual self. Probably because they were finally getting close to escaping this horrible place—and one step closer to Bartrand.

"Could we … slow down? I'm not feeling very well."

Bethany had been trailing behind for the past few hours. Anders assumed that she was merely exhausted—they all were—but at the weakness in her voice, his memory jolted. This feeling … No …

"Let's make camp if you're sick." Theia was still surveying the passage in front of them.

Varric chuckled. "I'll wager it was those deep mushrooms we found."

No, it wasn't that. It was much, much worse. Anders was about to explain when Bethany sunk to her knees behind him. "No, I …"

Theia spun around, her eyes growing wide. "Bethany!" She hurried to her sister's side.

"It's the blight." Anders finally realized what the sensation had been: his own tainted blood reacting to Bethany's, to the poison coursing through her veins. "I can sense it." He could _see_ it, in her pale paper-thin skin and clouded eyes.

"I'll end up just like Wesley, won't I?" Bethany asked softly. Anders didn't think he could bear it if he had to watch one sister kill another.

"That's just like you, keeping this to yourself." Theia smiled dimly, and he noticed she was fighting back tears.

"What could you have done? Swoop to my rescue?" Bethany sighed. "I'm not going to last until the surface. It's coming on stronger."

He couldn't let this happen, especially not when he knew that there was a chance to save her. He hadn't mentioned it before, because it hadn't been relevant at all. Their expedition wasn't going anywhere near the Wardens, and he hadn't wanted to risk being shanghaied back into their ranks. But now, he was willing to take that chance. "There might be something we can do. I stole the maps from a Warden that had come to Kirkwall. I wanted to know if he was looking for me. He wasn't. The maps were for planning their own expedition into the Deep Roads."

"Does that mean the Grey Wardens are here?" The hope in Theia's voice nearly killed him. She didn't know how much of a long shot this was.

"If the Wardens are here, I know where. We could bring Bethany to them …"

"And do what?" Bethany interrupted. "Become a Grey Warden?"

"If there's even a chance, we must take it." Theia was determined now, and nothing was going to change her mind. Not even her sister.

"Then I hope I'm right."

He and Theia both went to help Bethany to her feet, but she shrugged them off. Clearly there would be no pitying her. Strength ran in the Hawke family, as did pride. He led them away from the familiar-looking tunnel into a dark side passage, and hopefully towards the Wardens. It wasn't long before he began to sense the darkspawn taint.

"Hmm." He stopped the group, trying to decide whether or not they were walking towards friend or foe.

"What's wrong?" Theia stood beside him, looking anxious.

"I think they're nearby. Or it could be darkspawn." And that was the trouble with sensing the corruption: he couldn't differentiate between Warden and darkspawn. Being on the surface usually solved that problem, but here in the Deep Roads? He just hoped they didn't get too sidetracked.

Of course, it was darkspawn. It was always darkspawn. That could be his life motto. He didn't even have time to draw his staff before Theia had thrown herself into the midst of the horde. Blades flashing, glistening with fresh blood, the creatures fell before her. She was angry—furious. Their taint had corrupted her sister, given her a death sentence. Now there was hell to pay.

As Anders battered a straggler away, a familiar face greeted him. Stroud. His former comrade looked less than impressed to see him. "Anders."

"Fancy meeting you here, Stroud." Well. This wasn't awkward at all.

Stroud folded his arms across his chest. "I could say the same. I thought you were through fighting darkspawn."

"I'm not here to fight darkspawn." Maker knew he would rather be doing anything else. He took a deep breath. "I came looking for you."

Theia stumbled towards them, supporting Bethany. The taint was getting worse at an alarming rate. This had to go quickly. Stroud raised his eyebrows at the sight of Bethany. "You … mean the girl as a recruit? Of course you do." He never had been impressed with Anders' sense of compassion. "I'm sorry," he said to Theia. "I know this comes as no comfort to you, but we do not recruit Grey Wardens out of pity. It is no kindness."

"You think it's kinder to let Bethany die from the blight?" Theia challenged.

Stroud's tone softened. "Sometimes it is, yes."

But Anders wasn't going to give up that easily. "Stroud, trust me when I say this one is worth your time." He had seen Bethany fight; the Wardens would benefit from her as a recruit, especially because she was a mage. "With the Blight over, you Wardens don't have recruits lining up."

"This is no simple task, Anders. This may be as much a death sentence as the sickness, and you know it."

"She'll die anyway." He winced inwardly as Theia's gaze pierced him. He had promised. "Take her and try … I'm asking you." _You owe me. I'm calling it in._

Stroud finally seemed to understand. He stared at Anders evenly. "Very well. I will try, but if I do this, then we are even." He turned back to the sisters. "If the girl comes, she comes now, and you may not see her again. Being a Grey Warden is not a cure. It is a calling."

"Are you sure about this?" Bethany asked, looking up at her big sister.

Theia hesitated, and Anders understood more from that than if she had answered right away. No, she wasn't sure. She didn't want to lose her sister forever. But Bethany would die, and soon, and this was her only chance at stopping it. "I'm not sure about anything. But I want you to live."

Stroud addressed his guards, the decision made. "We must move quickly if we are to reach the surface in time."

"Then …" Bethany struggled for the words. "I guess this is it. Take care of Mother."

Stroud wasted no time; he never had been one for sentiment. He moved to Bethany's side, and Theia transferred her support to this stranger. Anders noticed how she held on to her sister's hand a little longer than she should. Like Stroud had said, this could be the last time they saw each other. Not everyone survived the Joining.

The Grey Wardens disappeared in a heartbeat, hurrying to complete the ritual before the taint ran its course. Varric sighed quietly, shook his head, and took a few steps in the direction of Kirkwall. Anders followed suit, until he noticed that Theia wasn't moving.

"Are you coming?" he asked gently.

She didn't look at him. "You go ahead. I just need a minute."

He and Varric glanced at each other, but didn't say anything. It was probably better to give her some time to process what had just happened. They headed back into the passage, and Varric mumbled something about making camp. She must have thought they were out of earshot, and a choked sob echoed down the empty tunnel.

Anders squeezed his eyes shut. Theia Hawke was now jaded.

* * *

><p><em>So stand in the rain<em>  
><em>Stand your ground<em>  
><em>Stand up when it's all crashing down<em>  
><em>You stand through the pain<em>  
><em>You won't drown<em>  
><em>And one day what's lost can be found<em>  
><em>You stand in the rain<em>

- Superchick

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** I feel like this song is Hawke's theme song, more or less. Seriously. She gets her emotional ass kicked all over this game.


	3. Like Resisting

**A/N:** It's been a while, I know. I went on holiday to England, and then had my wisdom teeth out. But now I'm back, and trying to keep up with writing! After this chapter, things will start to jump around a bit. No worries, I'll let you know where you are ;)

* * *

><p><em>So tell me now, where was my fault<em>  
><em>In loving you with all my heart<em>

- Mumford & Sons

**3. Like Resisting**

_Stop it._

Anders was jolted out of his reverie by the indignant thought. Justice's patience was wearing thin, and Anders couldn't really blame him. It had started out as a harmless interest, one which he was sure would be one-sided. Unfortunately, she seemed just as fascinated with him as he was with her. Then it had developed into something more. And suddenly two years had passed, and it was becoming an obsession.

_You cannot keep dwelling on her. It is not healthy._

He shrugged off the reproach, and went back to organizing the poultices at the back of his clinic. As much as he hated to admit it, the spirit was right. This had to stop. It was driving him to madness. She haunted his dreams, and she was beginning to seep into his waking moments. Not that he was without her often; he accompanied her on almost every quest, despite the toll it was taking on his patients. He just couldn't refuse her. And to his alarm, he noticed that she was working closer to his heart. On purpose.

Three years ago, this wouldn't have been a problem. Three years ago he was only Anders, devil-may-care, humorous, a bit of a rebel. Now he wasn't entirely sure who he was. Anders, Justice … different and the same. And, of course, there was the taint. That only served to complicate matters. As selfish as he wished to be, he couldn't in good conscience get involved with a woman whose lifespan was decades longer than his. So he tried to warn her away, discourage her advances with reserve and detachment. But so far, she didn't appear to be daunted by any of his attempts.

Maybe he should leave Kirkwall. After all, nothing tied him here anymore. He could leave his clinic, find another city, find other patients in need. His debt was paid; it had been since he'd handed over his maps, accompanied her into the Deep Roads, saved her sister's life … There was no reason to stay.

_We cannot abandon this city. The injustice is too great. Your conscience would not allow it._

Again, forced into resignation. His years in Kirkwall had broken his heart for the mages and the hardships they endured. He had sworn he would do something to aid them, so he wouldn't leave, no matter how appealing the alternative seemed. He would just have to work harder to convince Theia Hawke that he was a lost cause. She would give up eventually. A woman like her could do better than him, even if the thought made his stomach churn with jealousy.

"Anders?"

He spun around quickly, and couldn't decide whether to feel happy or nervous that Theia was standing at the door to his clinic. There were no patients at the moment; the last man, with an impacted tooth, had left hours ago, so it had been a rather slow day. But apparently things were about to heat up.

"Are you busy? Can I come in?"

His first instinct was to invite her in, but a warning stirred inside him. _Be careful._ He opened his mouth to say that he was busy, and could she possibly come back later, when he had some time to think and collect himself; but as there were no patients in his clinic, it would look incredibly rude of him.

Finally, he managed, "Yes, come in."

She smiled warmly at him and his resolve cracked a little. "I've been meaning to talk to you for a while." She glanced around at the empty clinic. "I'm glad to see you're not overflowing with victims of that poison gas."

A muscle jerked in his jaw. "Well. That _saar-qamek_ wasn't very survivable." He instantly regretted his lack of tact as she squeezed her eyes shut briefly. Of course she would find some way to blame herself for the crazed elf's actions—she was good at that. He tried to distract her. "But you wanted to talk about something?"

Her eyes returned to him. "Yes. I did." She took a deep breath, steeling herself for something. "I can't help but notice that you've been rather … distant, since B—the Deep Roads. And I know that Isabela says men are dozy by design, but I have made … _my intentions_ clear."

Colour flooded his cheeks, but he kept his face impassive. So she wasn't asking him to charge into another life-threatening situation. This was much, much worse. "Yes…" He winced at the sound of his voice, higher than usual, nervous.

"Well?" She was mildly impatient. "Is that all you're going to say? _Yes_?"

His mouth dropped open, but all that came out was a strangled noise from the back of his throat. He hadn't exactly expected her to come right out and confront him about their strange relationship. At best, he had hoped that she would give up and start paying attention to all the sons of Hightown who stared at her whenever she passed. He hadn't been counting on her resolve.

"You know …" he began, choosing his words carefully. "You know why I can't—"

"No, I _don't_ know. All you do is wave me off with vague, one-word explanations: Justice, Warden, mage." Her tone softened. "_You_ know that I don't care about any of that. None of it matters to me, so why does it matter to you?"

She had closed the gap between them, completely unnoticed by him. And as she finished her sentence, her hand reached up towards his face. For a split second, he was ready to just accept everything and give in. But then Justice, who had been abnormally dormant for the past few minutes, exploded in a fit of fury. _No! You cannot allow this!_

Anders turned away from her outstretched hand, a mixture of regret and rage on his face. They stood there, the pair of them, for a few awkward moments, neither one moving, hardly daring to breathe. The silence was only broken by a timid knock on the clinic door. An exhausted-looking woman stood waiting, with traces of blood in the corners of her mouth. As Theia and Anders stared, the woman began hacking into a filthy rag.

_Consumption_, Anders thought bitterly. This wasn't going to be easy. "Listen …" He could feel Theia's eyes on him, but he didn't meet her gaze. "I'm sorry. It doesn't matter how I feel. I just … can't. Please try to understand."

He expected a resentful outburst, but instead she only sighed patiently. As she walked past him to leave, she whispered in his ear, "I'm not giving up, you know. Because _nothing_ matters, except for how we feel."

And as she left, Anders knew that there was no way he would be able to resist a woman like Theia Hawke for much longer.


	4. Like My Fate

**A/N:** This one takes place sometime during Act III. Post-Legacy, so contains spoilers for the Legacy DLC.

I always wondered whether a romanced Anders would ever get around to explaining just why getting romantically involved with a Grey Warden is a heartbreak waiting to happen. ;_;

* * *

><p><em>A classic case I suppose<em>  
><em>A haunted man who can't outrun his ghosts<em>  
><em>They're in my skin and my bones<em>

- City and Colour

**4. Like My Fate**

They were whispering to him in the darkness. He could hear their voices, but he couldn't see them. It was thick and black and airless. It was impossible to see, but he knew something was stalking him. Whispers, whispers … on all sides of him. And whatever was following him was getting nearer. The whispers were getting louder, turning into snarls and shrieks. He was running, but he couldn't tell if he was moving. He felt warm breath settle on the back of his neck, and there was one second of complete, crippling panic before he was jolted out of sleep.

He had thought he was done with these nightmares. The Blight had ended years ago with the Archdemon's death. The Architect and the Mother had fallen to the Warden-Commander months later, and the darkspawn had reportedly fled. And so he had expected the nightmares to stop. Instead, they had only changed: the dragon no longer haunted his dreams, but he could still _feel_ the other creatures watching him, waiting for a moment of vulnerability so they could strike. The terror he would normally feel in such a situation was magnified tenfold by the surreal qualities of the dream.

There had been longer gaps between nightmares, for which he supposed he should be grateful. He seemed to be most susceptible after long, stressful days, and the past few days had been exactly that. After a few too many attacks from Carta dwarves, Theia had finally requested that Varric figure out who was trying to kill her. The search intensified after a letter from Bethany brought news that she too had been a target of the Carta. Varric had then quickly traced the criminals to the Vimmark Mountains, and the ancient Grey Warden prison that wasn't supposed to exist. It had almost been like a holiday, getting out of Kirkwall… except for the dwarves and Wardens crying for 'the blood of the Hawke' so they could release some age-old darkspawn. Of course.

As they had ventured further into the Deep Roads, the voices from his dreams had actually penetrated his waking mind. He'd never experienced anything like it. Whispering, calling to him … Bethany didn't seem to notice anything, so he kept quiet until he could no longer take it. He completely lost control for a split-second, and the next thing he knew Theia was pulling him up off the floor, her face taut.

"Thank you, love." Apparently beating some sense into him seemed to help. He deserved it; he had turned on her, summoned demons to _attack_ her. And then they had just continued on, as if nothing had happened. Once, he opened his mouth to apologize, but Varric shot him a warning look. _Wait until after we fight this Corypheus,_ that look said.

They finally came to the prison, and Theia had broken the last seal with her blood and the Key, it was all he could do to contain Justice when the one who had possessed him was staring him in the face. But Corypheus had fallen, just like every other foe they crossed paths with. And with his death, the voices finally stopped. But it didn't erase the shame of what he had done. Again, he tried to apologize, but this time it was Bethany who stopped him. _Not now,_ said the hand on his shoulder. _We need to talk about our father._

So he had waited, respectfully staying away from the Hawke Estate, despite his desperate need to ask for her forgiveness, to have the chance to simply _explain_. But that had been a time for sisters, for the elder to reassure the younger that her magic was not a curse and that their father had never despised her for it. By the time he had finished with his patients in Darktown, Bethany had gone back to the Wardens, and exhaustion had finally driven Theia to her bed.

Bodahn had let him in with a tired smile. "Messere Hawke said for you to join her in her chambers when you arrived. If you need—"

Anders quickly cut across him. "Thanks, Bodahn, but I can help myself to anything I need."

The dwarf gave him a grateful smile, beckoning Sandal and Orana to follow him to the servants' quarters. Anders had watched them go, and then quickly bounded up the stairs to the bedroom. There was a rush of relief and disappointment when he found his lover slumbering peacefully on her side of the bed. No apologies or explanations tonight, but there would be plenty of time in the morning if he could keep her away from her writing desk. He gently climbed into bed, taking care not to disturb her sleep. He had meant to stay awake and mull over the events of the previous few days: the disturbing revelation involving the Golden City and the ancient magisters; a story he had always seen as Chantry propaganda, but one which he now knew to be true. But he had underestimated his own fatigue, and soon his mind drifted to the Fade with his dreams.

He had only been sleeping a few hours when the nightmares started. At the usual point in his dream, he woke in a cold sweat, sitting up quickly like a struck match. This sudden movement jerked Theia out of her own dreams. She sat up slowly, bleary-eyed, but instantly became alert when she noticed her distressed sleeping partner.

She knew this routine. She shuffled closer to Anders, rested her head against his shoulder and stroked his back soothingly. In a few minutes his body stopped shaking and he was ready to talk. After the first startling wake-up call almost a year ago, she had learned not to ask about the contents of his nightmares, or why Wardens were plagued with them. But tonight was different. His distressing performance in the Deep Roads had lit a fire in her, and she was determined to get answers.

Just as she opened her mouth to interrogate him, Anders spoke. "I owe you an explanation for what happened with Justice and Corypheus. And an apology. I'm so sorry, I should have been able to control him …"

"I probably shouldn't have dragged you back down there. I just … forget."

He smiled at her. "Well, if we're both going to apologize, we might as well do it over something hot." He laughed as she raised her eyebrows, quickly clarifying. "I mean cocoa. Get your mind out of the gutter."

She moved to get out of bed, but he grabbed her arm. "No, I can get it." _I need the time to figure out how I'm going to tell you this._

He hurried out of the bedroom and down the stairs, taking care to be as quiet as possible; he didn't want to wake Bodahn or Orana (Sandal could sleep through an Exalted March). The fire that usually warmed the kitchen was reduced to embers, and he flinched as his bare feet touched the cold stone floor. He quickly removed two mugs from the freakishly organized cabinet, and filled them with water from a large jug left on the counter. Taking the cocoa powder from its usual place, he held one mug in his hand, heating the water with the tiny flame in the middle of his palm. In five minutes, he was carrying two steaming cups of cocoa back up the stairs.

He found Theia sitting attentively, waiting for him. He passed her a mug, and then sat across from her on the bed. They sat in silence for a few moments while he tried to collect his thoughts. Where to start? The Joining, or the events that led up to it?

She saved him the trouble of picking a starting point by asking, "What did you mean when you said that Wardens aren't immune to the taint forever? You said something similar when I first met you."

He could do this, and she could handle it. She'd proven how strong she was a hundred times over, and it was only his reluctance that held him back. Besides, he owed the Wardens no favours, and she wasn't the type to spread this information around.

"Do you remember what Stroud said when we found him in the Deep Roads?" he began. "How joining the Wardens could be as much a death sentence as the taint?" She nodded, and he continued. "Well … okay. When you join the Wardens, you have to go through this ritual called the Joining. One reason there aren't a lot of Grey Wardens is because not a lot of recruits survive the ritual."

"_Survive_?" she blurted, and then clapped her hands over her mouth. "Sorry!"

"Yeah. You get to drink this lovely little cocktail that contains, among other things, blood from an Archdemon." He couldn't help but laugh at the face she made. "You have to have a sufficient dose of darkspawn corruption to have an immediate effect, otherwise you are slowly corrupted into a ghoul."

"Like poor Wesley …"

"Like Wesley, yes. So after the Joining, you get a link to the hive mind, and that's why Grey Wardens can sense darkspawn." And now came the tough part. "But drinking corrupted blood isn't exactly _healthy_, and just because you survive the Joining you aren't immune from the blight forever. It just delays its onset."

He didn't want to spell it out for her, and he saw her mind processing what he'd just told her. There were subtle changes in her expression as she realized what it all meant. Her eyes widened slightly, and he could see her jaw drop behind her closed mouth. She pressed her lips together tightly before finally asking, "How long?"

"Thirty years after the ritual, give or take."

"So you and Bethany …"

"If you're imagining sitting dutifully beside a deathbed as I waste away, you needn't worry. When the nightmares and voices come to a head in a couple decades, I'll head to Orzammar for my Calling."

That had confused her. "Orzammar … your Calling? What?"

"It's when the taint finally starts to take hold. You go down into the Deep Roads, celebrate, and then take as many darkspawn with you as you can before they kill you." He waited for her to say something, _anything_, but she just stared at him, her mug of cocoa completely forgotten. For a second, he was terrified that she might burst into tears, but she was too strong for that. "I'm sorry. I should have told you sooner. I should have told you before—This is why I didn't want to get involved—"

"I'll come with you," she said unexpectedly.

"What?"

"When you go for your Calling. I'll come with you."

His mouth went dry. "To … to see me off, right?"

She had that determined, blazing look on her face. Oh, Maker … "No, to fight with you."

He must have misheard her. She couldn't actually be suggesting this. "No. Absolutely not." How had she jumped to this decision so quickly?

"I don't think you can really stop me, unless you're planning on binding me with blood magic." She looked smug, like she had just found some sort of loophole in his refusal.

He couldn't let this happen. "But-but … No! You have a life here, I can't take that away from you!"

"A life? I have an estate, but that's it. My mother's dead and my sister is going to die a couple years after you. What am I supposed to do after that?"

Hard to argue with that. But he had more than one incentive up his sleeve. "What about your friends? Merrill, Aveline, Isabela? _Varric_?"

She could sense his desperation, and her face softened. "They would understand. Besides, they have their own lives. Merrill's finally making friends in the alienage, Aveline has her husband, and I don't think Isabela could ever be bored. And Varric …" Her resolve faltered for one brief second. "Varric would keep busy. Spreading rumours, annoying the city guard, general mischief."

"Where would Bodahn, Sandal and Orana go?"

That seemed to hit home. She didn't fire off an answer right away. This argument seemed to have some effect on her stubbornness. For a moment, he allowed himself to believe that he might have actually convinced her. But then she was a Hawke, and tenacity ran deep in her veins.

"Varric would find them a good place," she said finally. "He likes Bodahn, he'd never let him work for someone as pompous as the Merices. You're not going to talk me out of this one."

"I'd be a despicable human being if I didn't try."

She grinned roguishly at him, and then tried to stifle a yawn. He sighed resignedly. Clearly, this dispute would not be settled tonight. They were both determined to sway the other, and they were both getting tired. He took her now-cold mug of cocoa from her, and placed it on the nightstand. She took the hint, and crawled under the covers. For tonight, he would allow her to think she had won. But he definitely hadn't given up on this fight.

* * *

><p>The Hanged Man was not a place Anders normally visited. Especially not during the day. Before dinnertime, the tavern was full of inebriated miscreants just looking for trouble. He didn't understand how Varric could tolerate living in such a place. But then again, Varric had been spending much less time in the Hanged Man over the past few years.<p>

As Anders stepped into the tavern, he couldn't help but wrinkle his nose at the smell: sweat and stale booze from last night's happy hour. Varric was sitting at a table in the back corner, scrutinizing some pieces of paper with apparent disgust. When the dwarf noticed Anders approaching, he quickly covered up the documents, and Anders couldn't help smiling to himself. Varric's dissatisfied expression probably had to do with the costs of activities that he only alluded to—keeping the numerous Darktown thugs from attacking Anders' clinic, or paying off the Lowtown gangs so they would leave Merrill alone at night.

"Blondie!" Varric threw him his customary grin. "I didn't expect to see you for a while. Isn't it a little early for drinking?"

"Very funny." Anders sat down across from Varric, and the dwarf straightened up.

"Ah, so you're looking for advice. You've come to the right place. I've got a lifetime of knowledge."

Anders cocked an eyebrow. "Uh-huh. It's more of a favour, actually. I'm going to have to leave Kirkwall eventually—not for years, but one day. And I need you to … convince Theia not to follow me."

There was a moment of silence as Varric's brow furrowed. "This has something to do with your Warden days, doesn't it?" Anders nodded, but didn't offer any other information. "I've heard stories of middle-aged Wardens going to the Deep Roads to die. I take it they're not _just_ stories. And you don't want your lady love rushing into an early grave."

"Exactly!" He was relieved that Varric seemed to understand him. "You need to make her see sense. She won't listen to me."

Varric stroked his chin thoughtfully. Surely if anyone could convince Theia to abandon her foolhardy plan, it would be the smooth-talking dwarf. But then: "You know that you're completely wasting your time. Even if you and I plan this for years, and you drug her and sneak away in the middle of the night, she'd come after you in a heartbeat. And to be honest, I'd probably join her."

A weak "What?" was all he could manage.

"Nothing in Thedas could keep her from following you. And I'd want to throw you two one hell of a going away party. Can you honestly picture Hawke all dolled-up in her mansion, attending pretentious noble gatherings for the rest of her life? Besides, in our current line of work, her life expectancy is probably about the same as yours."

Anders was prepared to argue this point until dusk, but he knew that he would get nowhere with the loyal Varric. Instead, he merely settled for, "Thanks. I'll see you later."

He stepped out of the Hanged Man, feeling a lot more exasperated than he had expected. Varric _did not_ have a point. He refused to concede. He would not accept defeat, even if it meant hurling himself into some chasm in Orzammar while she slept. He would not allow her to die for him. Never.


	5. Like the Lies

**A/N:** Act III, immediately following the Justice quest.

* * *

><p><strong>5. Like The Lies<strong>

It was too good to be true, and she had been foolish. By the time the letter came, she already knew the answer. At first she had been blinded by happiness. But as they had progressed, her common sense had caught up. Things just didn't make sense. She had written anyway, holding onto her last shred of hope, praying that somehow it would be true. And then the anger had set in. She was never openly hostile—save for the one time when Fenris' anti-mage spewing had gotten all over her last nerve—so she resorted to quiet stewing. Short, direct answers, few smiles, and all sorts of excuses as to why her estate was now off-limits. That had lasted for about two days, and now she was miserable.

She sat despondently in her chair by the fire, mentally berating herself. She was still furious with _him_, but she was also disappointed in herself. How could she have allowed herself to be manipulated so easily? Granted, he was the last person she would have expected it from, but it was so obvious now. She should have seen it coming. She should have realized earlier and spared herself the heartache. Well … would it have turned out any differently?

* * *

><p>It all started with a routine trip to Anders' clinic. An outbreak of influenza in Darktown had been keeping him extremely busy, so she decided to visit and offer what little assistance she could. She floundered about for a few hours, not really helping, before most of the patients cleared out. It was then that he asked her for the favour.<p>

An unbelievable deal: a slightly dangerous hunt for two compounds, in exchange for something she had never dared to dream of. A chance to have just Anders. No Justice, no Vengeance, just … _Anders._ It was only after she left the clinic and reached the safety of her home that she allowed it all to sink in. Her shriek of joy had brought her poor mabari racing into her room, looking frantically for whatever was attacking his mistress.

When they traversed through the sewers in Darktown, she ignored the slight twinge telling her that something wasn't quite right. This seemed like an odd place to gather ingredients for a potion, even one this exotic. But she brushed off the feeling, told herself that she was just being paranoid. What reason would Anders have to lie to her, especially about something so important?

After they collected enough deposits of sela petrae, she returned home—without Anders, who claimed he had too many patients and would have to spend the night at his clinic—and immediately tore her library apart. She was searching for any book that so much as mentioned the Tevinter Imperium, scouring the pages for any sort of recipe. There was no mention of Anders' potion in her expansive library. Perhaps she had to search for older books, but it would look suspicious if she suddenly began spending excess amounts of time in the Chantry. Then again, she didn't really expect the Chantry to have any information on dangerous Tevinter concoctions.

But as they travelled to the Drakestone Mines for the last ingredient, she could no longer ignore the doubts that had begun to torment her. Anders did not look jubilant or even nervous, despite what was drawing nearer. She was having trouble sleeping due to her excitement and anxiety, but he just seemed … distant. Gloomy. Varric had repeatedly tried to cheer Anders up with templar jokes, but he refused to take the bait. Something was wrong, and, as she walked away from the Bone Pit with a bag full of drakestone, she seriously began to question what the compound was really for.

Anders' voice as he asked her to meet him in private at his clinic didn't help matters.

The moment she got home, she drafted the letter. She had to word it carefully; all of Hightown knew that she was involved with an apostate, so she didn't delude herself into thinking that the news was unheard by Meredith and Orsino. And she was certain that the Knight-Commander would intercept all of Orsino's mail, always searching for some trace of blood magic and conspiracy. She would never forgive herself if her carelessness brought templars down on Anders' clinic.

_Dear First Enchanter,_

_On one of my recent travels, I came across a man who claimed he had knowledge of an ancient Tevinter potion that could cure demonic possession. He would not reveal the entire recipe, but two ingredients are sela petrae and drakestone. I have not been able to find any mention of this potion, and I was wondering if perhaps you had heard of it. If it is credible, think of the possibilities. We might be able to cure abominations, and disasters such as the one that befell the Circle in Fereldan might never happen again._

_Your humble servant,_

_Theia Hawke_

She handed the sealed letter to Bodahn with delivery instructions, and then headed to Darktown. When she arrived, she discovered that she needn't have bothered. Anders was standing at the back of his clinic, looking even more melancholy than usual. He turned around at the sound of her footsteps, but didn't return her smile. Her sense of dread increased.

He needed to get into the Chantry, and he refused to tell her why. All he would say was that if she truly supported freedom for mages, she would help him. With every second she was becoming increasingly concerned. He was planning something, something dangerous, and he wouldn't tell her.

"I promise: whatever happens, it's on my head. It will not come back to you."

That didn't sound ominous at all. But she couldn't refuse him, especially not when this obviously meant so much to him. She just wished that he would trust her. After all the years they had known each other, after everything they had been through together, what reason did he have to keep this from her?

The visit to the Chantry was anything but comforting. She never really knew where she stood with her belief in the Maker, and being somewhere so religious only highlighted her uncertainties. She didn't belong in here, with all these devout believers. And she didn't particularly relish talking to the Grand Cleric. The old woman's insistent neutrality was beginning to grate on Theia's last nerve, especially given that tensions between mages and templars were at an all-time high. There could be no impartiality in the inevitable conflict.

But she did as Anders had asked, trying to stifle her worry for him. Even as she spoke with Elthina, she couldn't help but wonder what he was up to, and why he was being so secretive. Finally, after a few painfully awkward minutes in conversation, Anders appeared at her side, looking relieved to "find" her. As they left the Chantry she intended to interrogate him again, but he quickly slipped away into the night. Resigned, she returned home.

It was only back at the estate, after her anxiety had subsided, that she realized his two requests had been related. The sela petrae, drakestone, and admittance to the Chantry. It was all part of some bigger plan—that had nothing to do with separating him from Justice. She had been played. By _Anders._

Bodahn informed her that a reply from the First Enchanter was waiting on her desk.

She opened the letter numbly, already knowing what it would say.

_Dear Champion,_

_It pains me to be the bearer of bad news, and I regret to inform you that no such Tevinter potion exists. I have extensive knowledge of any secret Tevinter potions, and I have never heard of one that claims to cure the fusion of a spirit with a human being. _

_Furthermore, the ingredients that you mentioned would not be used in any kind of potion. Sela petrae and drakestone are common compounds in explosives. I believe the man you spoke with might have been trying to get an unstable amalgam out of his hands._

_Thank you for your enthusiasm._

_Sincerely,_

_First Enchanter Orsino_

* * *

><p>The fire was beginning to dwindle, but she couldn't be bothered to stoke it. She stared at the dying ashes, finally allowing herself to feel the full assault of her heartache. She had been hurt before, experienced all sorts of physical pain. Arrows, lances, spears and magic had all left their mark on her, but nothing compared to this.<p>

It was emotional betrayal. She had experienced this only once before, as she and her family were fleeing Lothering. When Carver attacked the ogre and was killed, her mother had blatantly told her—over Carver's still warm body—that his death was Theia's fault. At the time, she knew that they had to get out of the area, and so she had tried to ignore her mother's harsh words. But during the excruciatingly long trip from Gwaren to Kirkwall, she had allowed the cruel words to fester. It had taken months before she could look at her mother without feeling upset and ashamed.

She had never thought that she would have to experience such pain again, but here she was. This time it hurt even more because of the one who had inflicted this upon her. Anders. There was no one she trusted more than him, and yet it was he who had betrayed her. And she didn't understand why.

He could have told any lie to get her to help, but he chose to lie in such a way that was sure to break her heart. She had gotten her hopes up, believed that she could have a normal relationship with this man. And now she was questioning why she wanted to change what they had now, and she hated him for it. She had been so sure that this was what she wanted when he first kissed her in his clinic years ago, and now she was doubting everything.

Why had he done this to her? Why choose _that _lie? He could have just as easily said that he needed the drakestone and sela petrae for some poultice, and she would have been none the wiser. She still would have helped him sneak into the Chantry. She would still _trust _him.

Now, she was worried and angry and broken. Now, nothing made sense. She didn't know how she would be able to forgive him, because he seemed intent on never mentioning any of it again.

His words from only days ago echoed in her mind:

_I told you I would break your heart. Just know it breaks mine to do it._

* * *

><p><em>Hey lady, don't give up on me<em>  
><em>Don't burn your heart out love<em>  
><em>Till we're ash over sea<em>  
><em>Hey lady, I said I don't want to fight<em>  
><em>Like pretty girls need cowboys<em>  
><em>I need you here tonight<em>

- Thriving Ivory


	6. Like the Answer

**A/N:** Hey there! Sorry for the long wait. Life's been sort of hectic, what with moving back out to BC for university, and taking Honours ... so much reading. So updates may be even more sporadic than normal. Thanks for being patient!

Post-campaign.

* * *

><p><strong>6. Like The Answer<strong>

"Why didn't you tell me?"

Anders glanced up and across the fire. Theia was sitting against the back of the cave they were hiding in, her arms folded across her knees. The warm glow of the firelight on her skin did not soften her hard expression. He had known this question was coming, and he had attempted to prepare for it. He was only surprised that she hadn't asked sooner.

She didn't like to make a scene, and it was just the pair of them now. Aveline had stayed behind in Kirkwall with Donnic and her city guard, which had been hard for all of them. The templars wouldn't take kindly to a friend of the woman who had started an open war that was sure to spread, Captain or no.

Fenris and Isabela had left soon after, to try their luck in Rivain. Bodahn and Sandal had gone to Vigil's Keep with Bethany, where Sandal's enchantment abilities would no doubt be appreciated. Anders had sent Orana to the palace in Denerim with a note addressed to the Queen, in hopes that their old comradeship would provide the elf with a good home. Merrill had found another Dalish clan a few weeks later, and Varric had stubbornly lingered for another month. The dwarf had left for Kirkwall two days ago, and it had nearly destroyed Theia. They had been two rogues together, sarcastic and mischievous, always making snide remarks or cracking jokes. If she had her way, it would have been three on the run for much, much longer, but in the end she had to force Varric away.

A few days ago, the first of the templars had finally caught up with them. They had been ambushed, travelling through a thick forest. All of a sudden arrows were flying through the trees; it was no surprise that one of them got hit. Varric took an arrow to the shoulder and went down, which sent Theia into a fury. The templars weren't prepared, and probably should have picked a better ambush spot than a forest with lots of cover for a skilled rogue. Varric's wound hadn't been terribly serious, but it was a reality check. They weren't invincible, and people _were_ hunting them—passionately.

Once Varric had healed enough to make the journey back to the Free Marches, there was an extremely painful goodbye. Anders had only seen Theia cry twice—when she lost Bethany to the Wardens, and when Leandra was murdered by the blood mage—and as such, the sight terrified him. Here was this strong, fierce woman, now biting her lip to hold back the tears. Varric had been close to breaking down himself, and Anders felt his eyes water. But no tears were shed until after Varric was gone.

"Take care of Hawke, Blondie." Varric had smiled up at him, his eyes red. "I'll try to keep tabs on you. And—" His smile faltered for a fraction of a second. "—when it's time … let me know. I don't know if I'll be allowed into Orzammar, being a surface dwarf, but …"

Anders grinned. "I'll smuggle you in inside a backpack or something."

Varric chuckled. "Only for you, Blondie. Only for you."

Anders had left then, under the pretence of getting more firewood. Theia was standing awkwardly out of the way when he passed, and she didn't meet his gaze as he passed. This would be a private moment between the two old comrades, and it was the least he could do for them. He wandered through the forest for some time, half-heartedly gathering twigs for kindling. After he had collected a modest amount of branches, he wandered back to their camp. When he arrived, he at first thought that the campsite was empty. But then he caught sight of Theia standing with her back to the fire, staring into the forest. Her arms were folded across her chest, and she was clutching herself as if she might fall apart.

He knew that she had heard his approach, but she didn't acknowledge him. And he knew her well enough to know that she didn't want comforting words or a hug just yet. She needed to be by herself, to understand that Varric was really _gone_. It was just the two of them now. They were alone.

That had been two days ago. Now she was finally ready to ask the question, the answer to which would no doubt hurt her. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Anders stared at her across the fire. For a moment, he considered laughing at the determined expression on her face. He was thrown back to the first time he'd ever seen that look, during their first run-in with Sister Petrice. But the laughter died in his chest, and turned into a weary sigh. She wouldn't understand, but she wanted an answer nonetheless.

"It was the least I could do." He saw her eyebrows shoot up, but she waited for him to finish. "I had to give you one last chance to back out. I told you that it would never come back to you. I could never forgive myself if I dragged you down with me."

He tensed his body, preparing for the verbal onslaught that was sure to follow. He didn't have to wait long.

"_What_?" Her voice was dangerously quite, a telltale sign of the outburst that was coming. "You wanted to give me one more chance to _back out_? To _run away_?" She began to get louder. "Did you expect me to do that? Did you think I'd see what you did to the Chantry, see the mess you got yourself and everyone into, and just _leave_? You thought I'd turn my back on my friends—on _you_?"

She jumped to her feet, and began to pace back and forth. "Or did you think I'd join Meredith and her templars? And then what? Would you _attack_ me? Would you try to kill me?"

His heart ached just thinking about it. He had considered the possibility in the planning, but had never allowed himself to dwell on it. To think that he would be facing her down across the battlefield, to cast spells meant to maim and destroy at _her_ …

She still wasn't finished ranting. Clearly, this was a rehearsed speech. All the worse for him, then. "What part of 'until the day we die' did you not understand? Or did you really think I was that shallow?"

Again, he gave no response. It was better not to; he would let her get it all out of her system first, before he offered what feeble explanation he could. Anything would be better than what he said moments after it happened. _"I wanted to tell you, but what if you stopped me? Or worse, what if you wanted to help?"_ But she had mercifully stopped the interrogation, and they had hastened to save the mages he had inadvertently condemned.

After a few more minutes of her tirade, she finally stopped pacing, folded her arms across her chest and stared pointedly at him. "Well?"

He took a deep breath. "You and I both know that there's no right answer that's going to explain this all away. So all I can do is repeat my earlier sentiments. I didn't want to force any choice on you. And while it would have destroyed me to meet you in battle … it would be _your_ choice—what _you_ wanted, not what I decided."

"But why didn't you tell me your plan when I practically begged you? And why did you lie to me about … the potion?"

He winced. That had been an incredibly low blow. He had manipulated her feelings for him to serve his own ends. And it had resulted in her exile from her home. It had to be done, he knew that. But now that he looked back on it, he couldn't understand why he had gone about it in such a despicable way.

"I needed it done fast … tensions were rising, and I was desperate and … I'm sorry."

"You could have used any other lie, Anders, and I would have helped you all the same. I wouldn't have looked into it. I _trusted_ you."

"Trusted," he repeated, a sad smile on his lips. "The past tense."

She was silent. No confirmation, no negation. The implication hung in the air. He felt his chest tighten up; some part of him had always known it was too good to last. They'd had years together, but he was always going to break her heart. He had known there would be something that would push her away. He had just assumed it would be something less significant than destroying the Chantry.

"It's true that you've betrayed me." She spoke slowly, choosing her words with precision. "And it's true that, right now, I _don't_ trust you. But that doesn't mean I'm going to leave. I meant what I said, about being fugitives together. For whatever stupid reason, I still love you and I'm going to stay with you. But you're going to have to work damn hard to win my trust again."

At some point, his mouth had fallen open in surprise. He snapped it closed, realizing he must have looked like a complete idiot. She was staying with him, then. Once again he had underestimated her capacity for compassion—for love. He was making the same mistakes over again.

"I am so, so sorry," he offered meekly. "I don't deserve you."

For one glorious moment, a glimmer of the old, ingenuous Theia Hawke surfaced. She flashed him a sly grin and said, "Damn straight." But as quickly as it appeared, her countenance shifted back to the weary one he was accustomed to. He didn't know what else he could say, so he remained silent, staring at the flickering flames.

"I'm not going to pretend that I condone what you did. And don't think that this makes things all right. We still have a lot of talking to do."

He nodded mutely, not daring to meet her eye. The sound of her walking startled him, and he was mildly surprised to see her sit beside him. She hadn't been this close to him since they had fled Kirkwall.

She caught sight of his expression. "Don't get excited. Like I said, this doesn't make things all right." The corner of her mouth jerked, the telltale sign of her fighting a grin. "But it makes things better."

* * *

><p><em>I'm finally waking up<em>  
><em>A twist in my story<em>  
><em>It's time I open up<em>  
><em>And let your love right through me<em>

- Secondhand Serenade


	7. Like Mementos

**A/N: **Something I came up with after my Hawke gave The Shield of the Knight Herself to Aveline. I had the shield in storage, and I was rather indignant over the outcome. Also, credit to LadyCallia for bringing the song lyrics to my attention - many months ago.

Set in Act II, before All That Remains

* * *

><p><em>All the places I've been and things I've seen<em>  
><em>A million stories that made up a million shattered dreams<em>  
><em>The faces of people I'll never see again<em>  
><em>And I can't seem to find my way home<em>

- Five Finger Death Punch

**7. Like Mementos**

Anders stared blankly at the scene in front of him. Shattered jars, overturned cots, numerous footprints. Dozens of missing poultices and crafting materials. He should have been outraged, but instead he felt numb. It was the shock of disbelief. He knew that his clinic was well known in Darktown, but he'd thought the common thugs would have the _decency_—the _humanity_—

_Oh Maker, did they take it?_

His gut churned at the thought, and he quickly rushed to the back of his clinic. His belief in the good of the residents of Darktown hadn't stopped him from hiding his most valuable and rare materials out of sight. And Freedom's Call, his staff from Fereldan. He reached the concealed panel at the rear of the clinic and tore it open. And then he sighed in relief. Nothing had been taken; the thieves hadn't noticed the slight difference in pattern along the back wall. His staff was safe.

Anders reached out and grasped the worn red leather wrapped around the wood. The colour had faded from years of use. Karl had given it to him, all those years ago in the Circle. Anders never did find out just how his friend had smuggled it past the templars. He'd never properly thanked him for it, either. It wasn't a magnificent staff, like the First Enchanter's; it was only marginally better than the ones they gave to newly harrowed mages. Now, given all the dangerous adventures he found himself on, the staff was more or less useless. But he hung on to it. Not that it would be worth much even if he did try to sell it, but he couldn't bear the thought of parting with it. Freedom's Call, the only thing he had left to remember Karl. The man had died three years ago, but it still pained Anders to think of him.

"Maker, what happened?"

He spun around instantly, and found Theia standing in the front of the clinic. She looked around, disgust evident on her face. "I can't believe someone would be so callous as to steal from a free clinic." She turned her attention to him. "You weren't here, were you?"

He couldn't help but smile at her concern. It was still strange to have someone care for him. "No, love. I'm fine."

She looked as if she was about to say something, but then she caught sight of the object in his hand. Recognition dawned on her features. "Isn't that … your old staff?"

He glanced at it, like he needed to remind himself. "Yes. I know it's old and ineffective, but I just … can't let it go. Silly, right?"

An expression passed over her face too quickly for him to identify. But his stomach twisted the way it always did when he said something stupid.

"Were you worried that the people who broke in had taken it?"

He nodded, afraid to say anything else that might inadvertently offend.

"Would you like me to keep it safe for you?"

"That would be incredibly generous of you."

There was that look again, and his jaw snapped shut. "No, it really wouldn't."

* * *

><p>They walked in silence from the moment they left his clinic until they arrived in her room at the Hawke Estate. She stooped down next to her bed, reached under, and dragged a massive locked chest out from underneath it. Anders' eyebrows shot up, but he didn't say anything. She removed a key from around her neck and unlocked the chest. Without looking at him, she beckoned him over. As he sat beside her, she slowly opened the box.<p>

At first, Anders was slightly unimpressed with the contents of this secret chest: another old staff, a rusted greatsword, and a templar's shield. He couldn't understand why Theia would hang on to any of these items—or how she'd come to possess any piece of templar tackle—but before he could ask, she gently reached into the box and grabbed the staff. The reverence with which she held it told him more than he needed to know. This had belonged to someone dear to her.

"This …" She carefully laid the staff back down inside the chest. "This was Bethany's first proper staff. Our father bartered it from some black market salesman. She was so excited when he gave it to her."

She ran her fingers along the rusting blade. "This belonged to my brother, Carver. You never got to meet him. He died when we were fleeing Lothering. I couldn't stop him from going after that ogre." She blinked back the tears that were threatening to escape her eyes. "He worked odd jobs for months to save up for this, so he could join King Cailan's army. He was so bloody proud when he came home with it."

Anders watched her silently as she indicated the templar shield. "This belonged to Ser Wesley, Aveline's husband."

Aveline's unimpressed voice came back to him in a flash. He had been there when Theia had excitedly presented Aveline with a shield apparently borne by her namesake. But the Guard Captain had been less than pleased. _"__I __had __a __shield. __It __belonged __to __Wesley. __It __was __difficult __to __let __it __go, __but __I __did __so. __Utility __over __sentiment, __right? __We __sold __it, __didn__'__t __we?__"_

"I thought Aveline said you sold it." Anders watched her face carefully.

"I was going to," she answered softly. "I took it to a merchant in Lowtown with everything else I could spare. But it wasn't worth that much, and I thought Aveline would appreciate having it back. Before I could give it to her, we rescued Donnic from Jeven's set-up. And I saw the way she looked at him, and suddenly it didn't seem like such a good idea any more. But I hung onto it. Somehow it didn't feel right to sell it. Not when I'm keeping old things of Bethany and Carver's." She gave him a half-hearted smile. "So no, I don't think you holding on to your staff is silly. There's nothing wrong with mementos. They hold memories, of people who we've lost."

Anders' heart ached as he listened to her. He felt—for Theia, for himself, for everyone in the motley band. No one was immune to tragedy. Isabela, for all her bragging and bravado, had never really belonged anywhere. Did she even have anyone to remember? Varric had lost his own brother to greed and insanity. Merrill had been rejected by her entire clan. And yes, Anders could even feel sorry for the elf—Fenris had no memories of his past, of his family.

He was honoured that she would include Karl in her treasured memories.

"You're right," Anders murmured as he wrapped his arms around her. "There's nothing wrong with keeping mementos." _Even __if __it __hurts __to __remember __those __we__'__ve __lost, __we __must __still __remember._


End file.
